


card in hand

by arsenicjay



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Gen, High School, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicjay/pseuds/arsenicjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day: Izaya is up to his machinations as usual, Shizuo has an unlikely, but typical day, and Shinra gets caught in the unfortunate crossfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	card in hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisuru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/gifts).



The desk shudders, wood creaking under the strain as a school bag drops on top on it.

Shinra glances up, eyes widening when he catches sight of Izaya’s pleased grin. His bag looks full to bursting, zipper straining, and Shinra drops his book to peer at it closely.

“What's all this?” he asks, prodding the bag. “Don't tell me they're chocolates. Even you can't have had that many confessions before the bell—”

The corner of Izaya’s mouth twitches. “Sadly, I'm not popular enough for that,” he pauses, considering. “Actually, I'm more likely to get a knife to the back than a box of chocolates today—”

Shinra winces. “I’m going to hope you're joking, but I get the feeling that you're really not.”

“—but here, look,” and with that, Izaya pulls back the metal zipper tag. Shinra leans in, curious despite himself. He takes one look, and pulls away a split second later, squawking, “How much _money—_ ”

Izaya is grinning, even as he hauls the bag up and neatly yanks the zipper closed around the wads of notes again. “Shhh,” he says, even though the classroom is still fairly empty this early in the morning. “It's for the Biology club.”

“We haven't had a biology club since middle school,” Shinra starts to point out, but then it clicks. “Oh, you mean, your gambling—”

Izaya waves his hand dismissively. “Yes, the thing. Nakura was playing big yesterday. Lost it all,” his smile is a little too wide, with teeth looking a little too pointy, “And now I'm going to give him a chance to win it all back.”

Shinra pulls a face. “You'd make a very good loan shark, Orihara-kun,” he tells him, but Izaya is already settling back on his own chair, right in front of Shinra’s desk.

“Not nearly interesting enough,” he remarks, heaving a sigh. He kicks his feet up onto the desk. “Shouldn't you be busy with your _beloved_ today?”

“She told me that she'd throw me out the window if I missed school today,” Shinra replies fondly, propping up his chin. He can't help the way he smiles; Izaya takes one look and snorts.

“What about you Orihara-kun? It's Valentine's Day! Even you might have a special someone,” Shinra says. He wrinkles his nose. “On second thought, I'm not sure I'd want to inflict you on anyone.”

Izaya barks a laugh. He shrugs, nonchalant as he leans back on his seat. “Sadly, I can't romance all of humanity.”

\---

Valentine's Day is a noisy, floral-scented affair at Raira High. The rustle of homemade chocolate, wrapped in bright tissue paper, fills every nook and cranny of the old school building. It's downright treacherous—he'll be lucky to find an empty storage room for his game with Nakura at this rate.

“Oops,” Izaya says to himself, as he ducks back around the corner. Almost ran into another confession.

He peers around the wall: it's the quiet girl from the class 2B, confessing to—

Oh, now that's interesting. Honour student, class president from two grades above. Strict, uptight, and most definitely too _honourable_ to date a girl fresh out of middle school.

Izaya presses back against the wall, thoughtful.

Will he accept her confession and risk the rumour mill (which Izaya will probably start himself, let's be honest here) or will he reject her feelings and send his poor junior crying to the bathroom?

There's a crash somewhere outside, muffled by thick glass windows, and Izaya narrows his eyes. Probably still some way off, but best not to linger, he decides, thumbing the pack of cards and rolled up wad in his pocket. It'll be annoying if he has to make a hasty escape like this. One day, he'll get someone else to carry the goods—it's far too risky running a one-man operation.

There's another muffled noise, this time much closer to where Izaya is flattened against the wall, and his attention snaps back.

Ah. Looks like Option B it is.

Izaya stays silent, hidden by the lockers as the girl hurries away to the bathroom, slippers slapping against the linoleum floor as she stifles her sob. Mr Honour Student steps out a moment later, scratching the back of his head ruefully. He looks embarrassed—by the confession itself, or her reaction, who knows.

When he disappears down the hallway, Izaya pokes his head back into the empty classroom, searching and curious.

Bingo. There's a forgotten card on the floor. He picks it up and reads it slowly, notes cursive handwriting and the name printed neatly at the bottom—and then, after glancing around, rips it up.

Feeling inordinately pleased, he hums cheerfully on his way out. Drops the shreds of thick card into the rubbish bin, just by the classroom door.

Perhaps he'll try the rooftop next. His appointment with Nakura isn't until fourth period after all. Should be safe from the monster prowling around Raira High, for now.

\---

Shizuo stares blankly at the ponytail bobbing under his nose.

Or more precisely, at the girl ducking her head and stammering out a confession, as she holds out a box of chocolates. They're wrapped with light pink tissue paper, a red ribbon tying the loose ends together. It's cute. In a terrifyingly delicate way.

“Um,” he says. His hands feel sweaty, and he tries to wipe them discretely on his pants. It's windy enough outside in the school courtyard that he doesn't worry about wiping away the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

“—if you’d accept my feelings,” the girl mumbles.

She's as pink in the face as her gift, Shizuo thinks, still feeling a little confused. Must be hard work, this confessing business.

He’s just never expected to get a confession today. Never was a fan of Valentine's Day—back in middle school, girls were too nervous to approach him. And besides, all the flowers used to make him sneeze. Realistically, he supposes it's possible his reputation might not have carried over, or maybe this girl just doesn't know who he is, or maybe it's a case of mistaken identity, or _something._

Either way, he's not entirely sure what to do now.

“I don't,” he says, deciding on honest. He sees the girl's face fall, abrupt and hurt, and he hastily amends, “Ah, I mean. I can't. Sorry.”

It's just too dangerous. He knows under his skin there's that familiar thrum of violence. Resting dormant for now, perhaps, but it's still _there_. He's never had a choice when and how it comes out, but it's better safe than sorry (and he's been sorry far too many times already).

“Sorry,” he repeats. Shit, this is awkward. He feels like he should explain himself, but he's never exactly been stellar with words.

The girl bites her lip, and abruptly pushes the box of chocolates out to him—he barely manages to catch them. “Keep them,” she says, voice wavering, and then she turns on her heel and rushes away.

She leaves him standing in the school courtyard. He's more confused now than when this entire affair had started approximately five minutes ago. He glances down. The box is crushed slightly, where he'd dug his fingers in, from surprise.

What's he supposed to do with this? She knows he was saying no, right? He really hopes she got the message.

The box still feels too delicate for him to hold, and he looks around, wondering if he can pass these off to someone. Anyone, really. There are students passing by the alcove on their way back to class after recess, but nobody meets his gaze.

In the end, Shizuo gingerly places the box in his bag, zips it up and heads in too. Free chocolates, he supposes—even if he feels a little bad for rejecting her.

\---

“Pick one, Shinra.”

Izaya’s grin is a sharp slash across his face—sharper than the jut of his hip and the flick of his wrist as he demonstrates two cards, splayed between his fingers. He leans forward over the desk, tips of his school jacket brushing over Shinra’s pencil case.

“Huh? Why?” comes the question, but Shinra is already reaching out to pluck a card out of his grasp. He flips the front towards himself, and brightens. “Oh! Queen of Hearts!”

“Ah, boring.” Izaya slouches back as he examines the remaining card in his hand.

“Why? What was the other card?” Shinra cranes his neck in an attempt to peer at the answer, but Izaya is already flicking the card across the desk. “Oh. King of Spades? Was I supposed to pick this one?”

Izaya snorts. "No, you were just the process of elimination.”

“Ouch, that hurts my feelings. Though, I suppose neither of those cards really fit me anyway,” Shinra muses. He picks up the pencils strewn across his desk and slides them back into his pencil case. They're in between periods—next period is English, and they'll probably be reading more than writing, knowing their teacher. “Though, I do have a queen, and she one hundred percent has my—hey!”

He yanks his pencil case into a protective clutch, but it’s too late; Izaya holds up Shinra’s favourite pencil and examines it idly, looking entirely too pleased.

“Like I said: boring.”

“Well it’s not like it matters, right?” Shinra says. He swipes for the pencil, and pokes out his tongue when he misses. “People are just people—” he cuts himself off when he sees the way Izaya’s gaze slides into mild interest. “ _Anyway_ , a card system is probably weird to divide people into.”

“Not if you want to play a game,” Izaya offers, lazy smile twitching across his face.

“I think you’re better off with a chessboard if you want to play games,” Shinra says wisely. He strokes his chin, sitting back in his chair. “Who would be the King of Spades though? That’s top of the deck—”

Izaya’s expression sours. He drops the pencil back on the desk, and stands up.

“—maybe Kadota? But that’s—hey! Where are you going? Fourth period is about to start.”

“See you later, Shinra. I've got a _date_ with Nakura,” Izaya calls back, breezy. He’s already slipped halfway out the door. “Tell the teacher I’ve gone to sick bay.”

\---

Shizuo is skulking around the far side of the school during lunch break when he catches an unwelcome sight.

Of all the people he wanted to see today, Izaya is the last on the list. Well, Izaya is always last on the list of people he wants to see, but today particularly when he has to suffer the sight of Izaya with a _girl._

He'd be chasing Izaya out of sight on sheer principle, but strangely enough, the girl doesn't look too upset. She's smiling, even. If that doesn't raise Shizuo’s hackles, then Izaya’s smile (bordering on _kind_ ) certainly does.

“What the fuck are you up to, Izaya?” he mutters darkly, pacing the concrete.

As if on cue, Izaya’s gaze slides over to where Shizuo is, and a grin spreads across his face. He says something to the girl, too far away for Shizuo’s straining ears to hear, but it earns him a tentative smile before the girl walks back to the main school block. Izaya, on the other hand, is heading straight towards him—and Shizuo can feel his blood starting to boil already.

“Shizu-chan! Fancy seeing you here, hiding out behind the school,” Izaya calls, in a voice glaringly bright and far too cheery.

“Piss off, flea,” Shizuo retorts, hands clenching into fists. One sly comment, and that'll be all it takes for him to snap.

“I haven't even said anything yet,” Izaya says, grin still razor sharp. “Have you had a confession yet? Or are people too scared of you?”

Shizuo growls. He starts counting in his head—if he gets a suspension at this point in the year, his parents will be disappointed. Probably. They might expect it at this point, he thinks a little glumly.

“You saw me with the girl, didn't you?” Izaya continues. “That wasn't a confession, but I don't think it'll be too long before I get one. She's a little heartbroken, after all—”

He cuts himself off, ducking with a burst of laughter when Shizuo swings at him.

“Don't tell me you're jealous, Shizu-chan,” comes the mocking voice, and Shizuo grinds his teeth.

“You're so fucking—” he lunges again, and Izaya dances out of reach, laughing, “annoying, always up to shit—”

He's running in stuttered circles, trying to get his hands on Izaya who ducks and dodges, weaving out of reach. When Izaya levels a spiteful smile at him and finally turns tail and runs, Shizuo doesn't even think twice.

He runs straight after him.

\---

Part of him regrets baiting Shizuo, but it's too late now, Izaya thinks grimly as he dashes around the school fence.

He'd caught the quiet girl again, just after finishing his game with Nakura (he'd won, easy, three kings in hand), and sweet-talked her. Not a bad effort, granted that was his first time trying to even remotely woo a girl. Likening it to a game smoothes the process; it's a matter of playing the right card, and reading your opponent's next move. Even then, Izaya suspects that the girl will probably end up another plain card.

Ah well, no big matter. Getting away unscathed is the bigger priority at the moment.

“Shit,” Izaya mutters under his breath, as he ducks to avoid the trash can thrown at his head. Shizuo is getting serious about incapacitating him, it seems. Time to beat a hasty disappearance.

He's running along the side of the secondary school block, and he knows for a fact that a) the windows are almost always open in the science labs, and b) there are vending machines directly below. Not the best place for a smoke, but perhaps a potential route of escape.

If he uses the vending machine as a vault, he should be able to swing himself up high enough to lunge for the window. It's a quick calculation, measuring out his strides as he skids around the corner and reaches out, ready to brace against the initial impact—

The tips of his fingers have barely managed to grip onto the window ledge when there's a tug on his leg—a fatal jerk on his trousers that’d feel like grim vindication if he thought Shizuo were capable of complex emotions.

Still, that spiteful little thought doesn't stop him from crashing back down, yelping as his head smacks against the filthy concrete.

“Fuck—” Vision spinning, Izaya throws himself to the side as the vending machine topples over and smashes, splintering glass across the alleyway.

He lays there on his belly for a moment, catching his breath and willing his heart to slow from its rabbit-fast beat. That had been a slow reaction, nearly a hair too late. His head feels like he's put it through a washing machine: a steady, painful throbbing marked with a sting from where he'd hit the concrete. When he reaches back to gingerly touch the point of impact, his hand comes away with blood.

“Shizu-chan, you're a _monster_ ,” he eventually bites out. The words sound slow and slurred, even to him. Distant, almost. “Did you want to become a murderer today? Because you very well near did.”

There's no response, and Izaya twists his head to glance at where Shizuo should be: he's sitting up with a grunt, looking nonplussed even with the new scuff marks on his uniform. Torn again, actually. Strips of fabric hang off the back of his blazer, and his shirt is smeared with some sort of spillage from the vending machine.

The rest of Shizuo on the other hand, seems to be almost entirely unharmed—just a few angry red scratches on his face. If Izaya feels a vicious stab of jealousy, or maybe just that needling sense of _unfairness_ , he swallows it.

“What?” Izaya is pulling his lips back into a sneer before he can help it. “Don’t tell me you hit your head too hard and lost the last few precious brain cells you had.”

Perhaps not the smartest move, prodding the veritable beast when Izaya is already down for the count, but he's never been able to help himself when it comes to Shizuo. With things like this, he's just running on automatic now.

“Shut the fuck up, you lousy flea,” Shizuo grumbles. He winces, touching his face. “You got what you deserved. If you hadn't— _ow_ , what the hell.”

The non-sequitur is enough to poke through the mild fog clouding Izaya’s mind, and he perks up. Pushing himself up onto his knees is a painful exercise, but after a few searing moments of dizziness he twists to glance back at Shizuo. And stares, disbelieving.

Shizuo’s right arm is bent at a strange angle, just below the edge of his rolled up sleeve.

It'd be funny, if Izaya wasn't already hiccuping in half-choked laughter at the dumbfounded expression on Shizuo’s face.

“You broke your arm!” Izaya crows, elbows braced on his knees as he keels over. Every laugh sends a jolt of pain through his head, but fuck, if he isn't going to enjoy every moment of Shizuo’s mishap. “The invincible Shizu-chan broke his arm!”

He hears the burst of swearing before he registers that Shizuo is lunging at him, fist raised, and he ducks instinctively. Though, as it turns out when Shizuo’s voice cuts off with a splutter of surprise as his right arm gives out under him, there's really nothing to worry about.

Aside from his own concussion, probably, Izaya amends, when the amusement abruptly slips away from him.

Well, there's a reason he keeps Shinra on speed dial. He fumbles to reach his pocket, and fishes out his phone. In the background, he thinks he hears Shizuo mumble a resigned, “Fuck, not again,” but then the other line picks up.

“Orihara-kun? I ducked out of class for this, what do you want? Where are you?”

“So, Shizu-chan brutalised me again—” Izaya pauses, covering the microphone when Shizuo bursts out, “Don't _lie,_ you little shit!” and continues, “I might need stitches. Meet you at your place after school.”

“Wait, what? Should you even be moving—hold on, don't just invite yourself over! I have plans for this afternoon—”

“See ya,” Izaya chirrups, and hangs up.

\---

“He really is a monster, isn't he?”

Izaya winces as Shinra dabs at the back of his head. Gauze gets tossed into the bin beside them, faintly pink and reeking with the sharp scent of antiseptic.

“I can't believe I have to spend Valentine's Day with you of all people,” Shinra bemoans, completely ignoring him as he picks up another piece of gauze. The dabs this time are a little reproachful; he’s had to postpone his date with Celty to patch them up. Well, Celty hadn't exactly agreed to a date, nor did she know about The Date, but still. “Stop riling Shizuo-kun up! One day you really will get killed. I can't fix a dead body, you know.”

“He didn't even notice his arm was broken,” Izaya continues, crossing his arms. “Do you think he can't feel pain anymore?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“It's like he's not even human.”

“I give up! If I find your body in a dumpster one day, I'll take it as a sign not to even bother. Though, you should really go to a doctor. It's a minor cut and I can stitch it, but I can't do anything if you have internal bleeding.”

Izaya hums. “No thanks.”

“It could be serious,” Shinra protests. He picks up his needle anyway, curved point glinting in the light of the apartment. “You definitely have at least a minor concussion—”

“I can't risk having my official records say I checked in anywhere,” Izaya interrupts, twisting in his seat. There's the barest hint of a shadow to his mouth, like a hidden not-quite smile. “Just stitches, please.”

A muffled crash comes from outside.

“Can't believe you let the monster in, though,” Izaya remarks, after a pause. He sounds sulky.

“Well, it's not his fault he broke his arm. You're lucky Kadota-kun is keeping him company outside,” Shinra replies kindly. “Actually, I'm the lucky one considering it'd be my property he'd be damaging. What did you say to set him off?”

He can guess the answer when Izaya doesn't bother replying. Just a few minutes of working in silence, with the occasional hiss of pain from Izaya—and Shinra pats his shoulder. “All done! Not too shabby if I say so myself,” he says, admiring his handiwork.

“Is that Shizuo’s bag?” Izaya asks instead. He's pointing to the couch, where a tattered bag slouches on the floor. “There's something in it.”

“Whatever it is, it's bound to be more wholesome than your wads of dirty money—hey!” Shinra protests, but it's too late. Izaya has already bounded over to roughly tug the zipper back and peer inside.

“Don't leave your things unattended in the presence of your enemies,” Izaya remarks, a tad too gleefully. “Even Shizu-chan should know—”

He stops, voice fading into silence as he reaches into the bag. There's a faint rustle, and Shinra glimpses a flash of pink and red.

A crumpled box of chocolates, if he isn't wrong.

“Ooh, Shizuo-kun got confessed to, did he?” Shinra says, coming alongside to look at the box. “I wonder if he said yes.”

Izaya says nothing, and Shinra glances at him in surprise. There's a furrow to his brow, almost as if at a loss for words.

“Who would confess to Shizu-chan?” Izaya says, a moment later. “You'd risk getting a punch to the face.”

“Actually, I think the only person at risk for that is you,” Shinra suggests.

Izaya laughs. It sounds a little frosty to Shinra’s ears, perhaps even bitter. “As if I would confess to such a brute.” He tosses the box back into Shizuo’s bag, careless, and strides away. “Anyway, thanks for patching me up. I have plans for this afternoon, so I'll be taking my leave.”

“Hey, what about my plans!” Shinra calls after him, indignant, but Izaya is already out the door.

He shakes his head, groaning.

There's still the matter of Shizuo’s broken arm to deal with before he's free of this mess. Good thing his father left his cabinet of medical supplies unlocked. Otherwise he might have to make do with a wooden spoon as a splint.

He glances back down, at Shizuo’s open bag, and tilts his head. After a moment, he tucks the box of chocolates back in, and zips it up.

“Good on Shizuo,” he says to himself, humming. “At least someone is having a good Valentine's Day,” he pauses, remembering the frightful angle of Shizuo’s arm, “Well, relatively.”


End file.
